Confrontations
by lying mongoose
Summary: Is he still watching?" ... Hotstreak has developed an interest in Richie intense enough to be scary. Something bad is bound to happen. HotGear.


Okay, so like, I love HotGear now (all thanks to the queen of HotGear, CrystallicSky, whom you should go read and love) and therefore, I had to write some angsty hurt/comfort stuff for it. Go me!

This is an AU, I guess. Frankie has his powers, but he didn't mess up with them immediately and get locked up. Richie doesn't have his powers, and they've met Daisy. It's somewhere between the episodes 'The New Kid' in Season One and 'Jimmy' in Season Two. And it's a little OOC, but hey, I tried.

It kinda ran away with me a little, so it got a wee bit long.

Disclaimer: So like, I totally don't own Static Shock, at _all_. If I did, it wouldn't'a been on Kids WB. Seriously.

Read and enjoy.

...

It was Monday, and as far as Mondays go, it wasn't a half bad one.

Richie had woken up that morning feeling refreshed and ready to get out of the house (where he had spent his entire weekend) and go to school.

He met up with Virgil just outside of campus, chipper and laughing at his friend's less-than-well-rested grumble of, "Morning people really creep me out, man." His friend dragged his feet and rubbed at his eyes until they were at the front door of Dakota Union High, where he gave one, final yawn and seemed to instantly come awake.

The black boy perked up and locked eyes with his best friend. "We don't have any tests today, do we?"

Richie smiled and shook his head, and the young hero sighed and said, "Then it's gonna be an alright day."

And it was an alright day. When he overlooked the odd scene at lunch, it was actually a nice day. And the scene at lunch was easy enough to ignore.

He had been sitting at his usual spot with the usual people, Virgil by his side and Frieda and Daisy across from them. They had been laughing and talking about their weekends, and the girls had just tapered off into some conversation about lip gloss when he decided that yes, he was warm enough in here to justify taking off his trademark green hoodie.

Everybody at the table had gone silent, and when he looked up at them from palming his hair into place he tilted his head. "What?"

Frieda's eyes had gone wide, and he noticed a bit of red on her cheeks. Blushing? He glanced and Daisy sitting next to her and gave her the 'please explain' look. Her blank look morphed into a smirk, and he caught himself from recoiling a bit at it.

"Richie, _really_, you've gotta come shopping with me sometime. I need someone with an eye like yours for clothes."

He looked down at his shirt, and blushed a bit, the red standing out much more starkly on his fair skin than Frieda's. He realized quickly what Daisy meant.

His shirt was small and tight and, well, kinda girly. He had thrown it on without any forethought, and groaned a bit. He wasn't one to let himself get overly embarrassed over something so silly, though, so he decided to play along.

He put on a winning smile and said, "Thanks, I'd love to! I could _definitely_ give you some pointers."

Daisy looked a little shocked at the comeback, but when Frieda snorted, she couldn't help but smile, too.

"Well, ya see, I'd like to find some more colors I look good in. Now that," she gestured to Richie shirt, which was a pale green, "I could never pull off. You make it look…_ fabulous_, though."

Her voice was still teasing, playful, and Richie continued on, adding a slight lisp to his voice and bringing up his arms to wave about, emphasizing his words. "Oh, no, girlfriend. You could so _totally _work this color, you'd just need to offset it with something dark."

By this time, even Virgil was smiling, trying not to laugh, and Frieda was in a full-blown giggle fit. Daisy grinned, and opened her mouth to reply, before something caught her eyes. Well, not caught, more like forcibly arrested them, they were so focused. Frieda paused in her laughing to see what Daisy was looking at, and her cheer died at the sight.

"Don't look now," Daisy got out with mild revulsion in her voice, "but F-Stop is checking us out." Virgil went tense and his eyes went to Frieda. "Man, if that crazy fireball tries to mess with you _again_…"

Frieda smiled at his concern, and shrugged. "Don't worry. It's better to just ignore him." And she went back to her meal. Everybody else followed suit, making a point to keep up the conversation to let Hotstreak know that he hadn't gotten to them.

"Is he still watching?"

Virgil's quiet question proved that for everything, the guy really had. Frieda snuck a glance up to where the redhead was standing, and noted that yes, he very much still was, but something gave her pause. Francis' eyes were most certainly not on her, and they weren't on Virgil, either. Following his line of sight, she realized that he was staring at _Richie._

She quickly looked back to Virgil and answered his question. "Yes," she said, and then her eyes went to the blonde's across the table, "you."

He looked up, eyes wide and a 'what' on his tongue, but he was cut off by Daisy glancing up and back to him, and with a confused look on her face, saying, "She's right. He looking at you. Been looking for like, all of lunch. Does he have it in for you?"

Richie went still, trying to think of anything he could have done to piss the older boy off. He made eye-contact with him for, like, _maybe_ three seconds last Friday. He decided that though the guy was certifiable, he wasn't crazy enough to pick a fight over something like that. Probably.

He shook his head in a negative, and Daisy looked confused herself, before Frieda piped in to lighten the mood, "Maybe he likes the way you look in that shirt!"

She giggled, and Virgil groaned in disgust. "Dang, Frieda, you owe me an _appetite_." Daisy just stared at Richie's blush.

Yeah, that was definitely easy enough to ignore. He wasn't thinking about it at all. Not the feeling of eyes boring holes into his back or the thought of just _what_ was going through Hotstreak's mind.

There were some things he really didn't need to know.

When he got home from school, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that Francis was going to try and start something, but he hadn't.

He hoped that lunch today was just a one-time thing.

…

Lunch that day was not a one time thing, unfortunately.

Francis continued to watch him with such intensity as to be scary, and the next day, it wasn't only watching he did. Oh, no. F-Stop had to up his game from that.

The guy seemed to run into him at the most inopportune moments (i.e. when he was _alone_) just to intimidate and frighten him, with his usual tactics. Cornering, insults, invasion of personal space, threats…

And it _was_ intimidating.

It was made even more so by the concentration in those green eyes whenever they looked at him. The way the older boy's body tensed, as if every muscle seemed focused on _him_, and only him.

He had no pretenses for himself. Hotstreak was scary as all get-out. And terrifying when he was alone with him.

After the first time he was caught by himself by Francis (he shivered at the memory of those few minutes backed up against a locker with the redhead advancing on him, growling out his last name angrily - he would have to remember to thank Virg with something nice for saving him then) he tried his hardest not to be left alone again. He stuck close to friends, Virgil in particular. Virgil could protect him.

But, still, F-Stop found him and cornered him the few moments he ever was by himself, and Richie just couldn't figure out _how_. It was like the guy was _hunting_ him.

Francis would sneak up on him, say his name to get his attention and _laugh_ when he jumped at the unexpected sound. He would grab him by the collar of his jacket and just, well, _work_ his downright amazing intimidation skills. He left him shaky and unsure whenever a friend came back to help him, and Richie couldn't figure out the why of that, either.

It wasn't like Hotstreak to just leave because other people came to help. He usually didn't care and went on picking a fight no matter who tried to interfere. But he left Richie, with a glare and a scowl, and stormed off.

Richie tried to ignore all that and go on with his day. Forget Frankie's problem.

At the end of the day, Daisy and Frieda found him and said they wanted to talk.

"Yeah, Richie. What I said yesterday… how about it? For real?"

He stared blankly at them, searching their eyes for some evidence that this was a joke, but all he saw were pretty, hopeful smiles.

"C'mon, Rich. We promise you'll have a good time. We'll come to the Radio Shack with you!"

Frieda grinned at him, and he tilted his head. Technology shopping sounded fun right now, but…

"Why are you asking me?"

The smiles went down a notch, but still stayed in place. "Well, we thought you might like to unwind with an afternoon at the mall. What with how today went…"

Richie felt himself warm at their concern, and finally smiled back. "Yeah, sure. You're right, I do need some unwinding."

Daisy smirked playfully at him. "And I _do_ need your eye for fashion." Frieda giggled, and the blond boy quipped back, "And you _do_ need some pointers."

They all laughed, and once they stopped, Frieda smiled mischievously at him. "Well, if we're goin' to the mall, we've gotta look out best. And that includes you."

Daisy joined in and looked at him appraisingly. "Yes, I agree. You looked much more mall-worthy yesterday. Do ya have any more shirts like that one?"

Richie blushed a little at the fact that, yes, he did. But he decided to humor them. These girls were great friends… and, well… _girls_. He was allowed to show off his feminine side around them, and they didn't mind. They actually liked it.

… And he really didn't mind his girly shirts. He thought he looked quite nice in them.

"Well, then. We better go to my place first so I can change."

He watched Frieda hold in a squeal, and they started to walk towards his house.

He had never tested the therapeutic properties of mall-shopping, but now was as good a time as any.

…

Somehow, Daisy and Frieda had used their womanly wiles to convince him to buy some very, well… _different _clothes. They were tighter and more revealing than his other girly shirts, but still, he had to admit, he looked pretty good in them.

And it was out of politeness to them that he wore them on Wednesday. Well, at first, that is. After he noticed the appreciative looks he was getting from some of the other students at school, he was really wearing them because he liked how he felt in them.

It was nice to know that he was desirable. Sure, girls he knew told him he was cute, but to have the power to make people _stare _at him was something else entirely. It made him want to laugh and smile and show off. It made him feel like he wasn't such a dork (not that he minded his dorkiness at all) and less socially awkward.

So he continued to wear the clothes. Although, it was winter and he could only take off his jacket inside, he still wore them.

And Francis still kept up his level-best efforts to torment him. Seriously, it was like the guy had nothing to do _but_. He was steadfast in scaring the crap out of him, and good at it.

Richie would be much more nervous if he didn't have such good, powerful friends. Friends that could kick a thug like Frankie around the block. Friends like Virgil. So he stuck close to his source of protection, and was glad when V didn't seem to mind. In fact encouraged it.

"Naw, man. F-Stop's crazy - you're right to be a little scared. I'd be scared if you weren't. We just gotta wait for him to lose his temper, and it's off to lockdown for him."

Richie smiled slightly at Virgil's casual attitude. "Lockdown, huh? Known Francis has been heading there since second grade."

His friend gave him a winning grin, "D'ya remember how he looked that first day?"

The blond paused, looking forward blankly for a moment, down the street that led to Virgil's home, as his mind pieced together an image from close to a decade ago. When it finally did, he snorted out a laugh.

"You mean with his hair combed all nice and his pants pulled up?" He smiled at the memory of the redhead coming in to the classroom on the first day of school, looking proper for all of ten seconds before the teacher turned her back and he glowered at everybody - mussing up his hair, un-tucking his shirt and loosening his pants.

"Yeah, he was a thug even then."

Richie kept his smile and forced his thoughts away from Hotstreak as he approached his best friend's house. No more letting the pyro occupy his mind.

…

Thursday went the same, and by the time Friday rolled around Richie was excited at the prospect of the weekend. Two days without Francis Stone.

Hotstreak hadn't gotten any worse since Tuesday, but that wasn't really saying anything, seeing as the only thing he could do to amp it up any further was beat him to the ground. Richie shuddered, and decided not to jinx himself - Hotstreak was very, very capable of that, and he was counting himself lucky that there was no real physical harassment going on.

It was Study Hall the last day of the week, and the blond was pretending to pour over some chemistry notes. Pretending, because he was too busy fidgeting at the feel of eyes on him from the other side of his table to really concentrate.

It wasn't Frankie, for once. It was a guy he knew from last year - he had won a popularity contest. Nick something. He remembered a bunch of girls advocating him as the one to vote for.

The boy had jet-black hair that fell in a wave across his forehead, and eyes that were dark and sharp. He was obviously shorter than him by quite a few inches, but he had a sturdy, muscular build, with strong arms and broad shoulders. Richie found it odd-looking that he still had a baby-face on that well-built body - no facial hair and his chin rounded, undefined.

It didn't take away from his handsomeness, really, but Richie knew that he would be much more so when he grew up a little bit.

None of that really mattered, though. He just wanted the guy to stop with the intense _staring_. He finally sighed and looked up, giving his attention to Mr. Popularity Contest when it became obvious he wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

"Um, hey."

He paused and waited for a reply, but there was nothing from across the table. Richie saw the black-haired boy upturn a corner of his lips a little bit, but he gave nothing in way of greeting. He felt himself getting agitated, ready to snap, but he decided to try and keep it polite. Lighthearted.

"I swear to you, I _am_ human. There's no need to stare like I'm a science experiment gone wrong."

Nick actually smiled then, lips curling and white-white teeth put on display, and Richie saw then why he had won that contest. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes bright and still intense.

"I'm sorry. I was just… curious."

The blond blinked, and felt his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He automatically pushed them back up, and then he tilted his head in a confused manner. "About what?"

"You." The answer came quick, with a smirk and Richie huffed with a roll of his eyes. Vague answers were something to get on his nerves. He shook himself, and kept it polite, forcing his tone into courteous interest.

"Alright, what about me?"

Nick grinned, a hint of meanness on his face and Richie wondered at how this guy had changed. He remembered him being very kind and helpful last year. Now all he heard about him was the bad running-buddies he had picked up and the other kids they were picking on. It wasn't anything very serious, but the change was still apparent.

"How pretty you look."

Richie's jaw dropped. His eyes widened and he _stared_ at the boy sitting opposite him. He couldn't get any words out for a solid minute. He could only watch Nick smirking at him and listen as the boy went on.

"I've never seen such a pretty guy as you. From far enough away, you could almost be mistaken for a girl, you know? But a guy doesn't have to think you're a girl to appreciate how you… look."

Richie closed his mouth and blushed something fierce as the meaning of those words came to him. Nick laughed as he stood up, his chair silent as he pushed it back.

"That's all." He moved to walk away, to another table with more people at it, when he paused and made eye contact one more time, a cruel look on his face. "You should know, I'm not the only one."

And then he was gone.

The blonde's blush lingered for a long time, even as he tried to refocus himself on his studying. The thought that he had just been _hit on_, by a _guy_, was one that his mind couldn't easily let go of.

His shock eventually wore off, but the blush only intensified in anger when he realized that not _only _had he been hit on, the guy had been a _jerk_ about it.

He huffed and wished Virgil was here as he resolutely dropped his eyes back to his notes. But no, V was off being Static at the moment. And he was alone.

…

He still had seen no sign of his best friend by the time the bell rung, and it was with a feeling of trepidation that he stepped down the stairs at the front of the school. He was walking home by himself, then.

He walked slowly, dragging his feet and slumping his shoulders. He was glad it was the weekend; it had been a long five days of paranoia and mental torment. He was happy for the reprieve.

All the other students had broken off to go their separate ways and he was truly alone, now. There was no light chattering and footsteps around him. He shrugged and perked up a bit. It was only a few blocks home, and once he got there he could relax.

He was wondering what had kept Virgil up for so long. It usually didn't take him so long to sort whatever he was dealing with as Dakota's hero out. He shivered at the winter chill biting at him and started to walk faster.

He was nearly home when he heard his name called from behind him.

Stopping, he went rigid. Even as he turned around his mind was telling him not to - to run forward - but he automatically turned to acknowledge the voice.

And there stood Hotstreak, staring at him with his face twisted into some undefined anger. His hands were fisted and his body seemed to be pulled taut and the rage in his eyes looked to be directed at everything, not just him. He was just unlucky enough to have caught the pyro's attention.

He took an unsteady step back and Francis snarled, his nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowing and his jaw tensing with the almost inhuman sound. His body was rigid, his muscles bulging under his clothes and _oh god _he was _smoking_. Steam was rising from him in wispy, purple tendrils and Richie could feel the _heat_ exuding from the guy even with his distance from him.

The blond flinched and he had to catch himself from stepping back again - a clear sign of fear that would only fuel the older boy's anger. He tried to speak with a firm, steady voice, but he couldn't keep his panic from showing though.

"F-F-Stop… are… are you… ?"

"What, _Foley_?" Hotstreak's voice came liquid and growly, and Richie's body froze in absolute terror. Even if he decided he should make a run for it now, he didn't think he could get his legs to move. "Wondering if I'm _alright_?"

Richie could only make a small, plaintive noise and the redhead advanced on him, face dark with promises of Very Bad Things that would happen when he got a hold of him, and still he couldn't move. He stayed, stone-still, like a rodent in the face of a terrible predator, as Francis grabbed him about the shoulders and forced him to walk with him. He stumbled and faltered as he was practically dragged by the angry psycho to…

… an _alleyway_?

Richie's sense of self-preservation finally kicked in at the sight of the dark, slim, _secluded_ street between two buildings, and he struggled like his life depended on it. Which it very likely did.

The pryo snarled at him again and Richie _shuddered_. "You make me carry you and I will make sure you can't walk right for a _year_."

The tech-geek gasped and hung his head, quieting and falling into step with the boy who was probably about to murder him. And he didn't have the slightest idea _why_.

When they were in the alley - hid away from the rest of the world and people who could help him - he was immediately shoved _hard_ up against a wall. He looked into the face of his attacker, though he couldn't see much in the darkness. Only his eyes. He tried to make contact, to figure out what was happening and _why_ so he could figure a way _out _of it.

"Frank-"

He was cut off by the boy holding him jerking him forward and slamming him back with a breathtaking force. He gasped and choked and _whined_ at the pain. He cursed himself for not being able to keep silent, and tried to focus on not crying at the sensation in his back because talking was apparently off-limits.

It was silent for a moment - a long moment of Hotstreak staring at him while keeping his hands where they were, clenched in his blue hoodie and himself trying to blink away the stinging in his eyes. Eventually, Francis spoke, his voice more controlled, but no less angry.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're doing, Foley?" The older boy questioned, and Richie stared up at him, confused. Hotstreak met the look, so intensely that the blond had to look away. A hand came up from his shirt to grab his face about the chin and roughly force it back to meet its owner's eyes again. "What are you _doing_?"

It was obvious he was asking for an answer, but Richie had no idea what he wanted to hear. He told him as such, and the redhead glared at him heatedly, bitterly, before both of his hands were grasping at his hoodie to pull the jacket over his head and off his body. He tossed it to the wayside, and Francis' eyes burned a bit brighter.

"Why the _fuck _are you wearing shit like this?" He gestured to Richie's clothing - or, better, close to lack thereof.

He was wearing one of the shirts he had gotten at the mall that day with the girls. It was made of sheer fabric that pulled up over his belly when he moved his arms into any position other than hanging by his sides, and his pants weren't much better. Hotstreak's interest in the clothing choices really only confused him more, and he whispered out, "What… what do y-" and then the redhead rumbled and slammed him against the wall again, his hands going to his arms to hold _tight_. He gasped in shock and pain.

"Dressing like a _slut_ and showing off your body to any fucker who's willing to look. And there are a _lot _of fuckers willing to look. All the goddamned _flirting_. All I see you do is bat your eyelashes and smile and shake your ass for _everybody_. You _bitch_."

Richie couldn't even begin to comprehend and consider what was coming out of Frankie's mouth, what with those large, hot-hot hands moving up to close around his neck and _squeezing_. He made a stifled noise, small and pained and _oh god _was he going to really _kill_ him? Hotstreak added even more pressure, until he couldn't _breathe _and he struggled for all he was worth, kicking and thrashing because his lungs were burning with the need for _air_.

He realized that his neck burned even more, and he could feel the skin being _scalded_ and _singed_ and he wasn't going to die from strangulation, was he? Francis was going to set him _fire._

His vision started to blur and his world started to tilt and all he could see was Frankie. Except he wasn't tall and large and looming and _killing_ him - but a second grader, unsure in his new surroundings and angry at the looks all the other kids were giving him. He remembered, for a moment, the first time he spoke to the boy, coming up to him and introducing himself - _"Hi, I'm Richie!" _- and the look the redhead had given him, shocked and silent, before those eyes went dark and cold and he _punched_ him in the gut.

He remembered falling forward and those arms catching him, and the other boy had whispered something to him he had forgotten until now -

"_Nothing personal. I just gotta let these kids know who's boss. I'm Frankie."_

- and that was all he could think about before he _died_? What the _hell_? Where was the whole life flashing before his eyes thing? What a gyp!

His hands pushed hopelessly, uselessly, against the ones at his neck, but the pressure was kept up until his movements became sluggish, slowed, and finally, he went still. He didn't feel the hands letting go, he didn't feel himself falling forward into a hard, hot body and being held, and he didn't feel himself start gasping for air.

That was what was happening when he came back from his near-death episode, and the first thing that came into his brain was a low voice, terrified -

"Oh, god, _Richie_, I'm - I didn't - I was just so - so _angry_. I - I didn't mean it. Oh, oh, _god_, just please _wake up_! _Fuck_! I'm _sorry_!"

- and those were apologies and pleas he was hearing, his mind deduced. From _Francis_? What? He didn't know what else to do but obey. He moved, and groaned at the pain that let itself be known from his neck. He wondered what would last longer, the burns or the bruises, and mumbled out something incomprehensible. There was a relived sound from above him.

… And then he was being hugged, a face shoved into his aching neck and arms holding him by the small of his back. He went stone-still for a moment before his mind helpfully supplied that this guy and just nearly killed him and he should be running. So he tried.

He wriggled and pushed and shoved, pretty ineffectually, given his dizzy, oxygen starved head, but the larger boy let go of him, stepping back as if _he'd_ been burned. He looked hurt and shocked and Richie would have stared at the expression that seemed so very _wrong _on that face had he not been trying to get away.

He stumbled out of the alley and didn't look back. He ran and ignored the wetness on his face that signified just how scared he really was.

He didn't remember until much later that he had left his hoodie.

…

Nearly getting killed doesn't do much for nerves, Richie thought.

He jumped when people startled him; speaking too loud, moving too fast. His heartbeat sped up and his lungs seemed to clench and he couldn't breathe until whoever had snuck up on him was apologizing and soothing and asking if he was alright.

He couldn't let himself be hugged by others. Not his closest friends, not his family. Not his _mother_. And the looks she gave him when he stepped back and away from her arms - arms that used to give him so much comfort - sometimes made him feel like he should just leave and stop hurting her.

But no. He knew that would kill his mom, and he knew what really hurt her wasn't that he refused to be touched by her, but that he wouldn't tell her _why_.

He saw it in her eyes whenever she saw him wince at the pain from his injuries (and he thanked his lucky stars it was November, and that he could wear turtlenecks and scarves to hide them unquestioned) or flinch from a touch, that she just wanted to know what was _wrong_. What had _happened_.

But he couldn't tell her. He could bring himself to tell _anyone_, not even his best friend. And it _killed_ him to see Virgil so worried for him, but he couldn't say anything.

It took a while for him to realize just why he was keeping it all a secret. It was a reason that would be impossible to explain.

"_Yeah, so F-Stop dragged me into an alley and nearly strangled me to death. Wanna see the bruises? Anyway, he stopped before he did and said he was sorry and then I ran away. But I don't want him to get arrested or anything - he seemed like he really was sorry and he hasn't made to hurt me since then. I haven't even really seen him. So please don't punish him. It really wouldn't do much good anyway."_

Yeah, that would fly over _real_ well.

On the one hand, Francis had left him feeling powerless and scared and he _hated_ him for it. He hated the way the guy had just completely uprooted his life with his hands and attempted manslaughter, and then just avoided him after it.

On the other hand, Richie wasn't stupid, and now that he had had time to analyze the confrontation in its entirety, he knew that Hotstreak had been motivated to anger by _jealousy_. Jealousy at some perceived flirting with others over that week.

Francis Stone _wanted_ him. Like _that_.

That took some coming to terms with. Hotstreak, thug and ruffian and all-around _bad guy_, and his personal bully and tormentor since he was eight, felt strongly enough for him to be pushed to a homicidal rage because he thought he was making eyes at someone else.

The feeling of knowing that - that he made someone so strong and bad completely lose control of himself and his emotions - was scary. It was _terrifying_.

He was scared of this guy. F-Stop had a temper that he had more than proven he couldn't control, and the redhead's feelings for him were obviously _deep_. Deep enough to be very dangerous.

But… he couldn't go on being so scared. So worried about when those feelings would come to the fore again and when Francis didn't stop before he went too far. It was stupid… but he had to confront the older boy about what he'd done.

God, he was a moron. Frankie was a Very Bad Man. He was a thug who enjoyed hurting people, who led gangs, who committed crimes and he liked to set things on _fire_, and was very good at doing it. He wasn't the type of guy you met alone to talk with.

This guy had nearly killed him, and he was going to search him out. Going to confront him. Going to his funeral.

He was surprised at the quickness with which his mind deduced that he really was in no danger of being hurt again by the older boy. He remembered the few glimpses of him that he had gotten since his attack, and how subdued the redhead had seemed. Shoulders slumped ever so slightly and eyes averted when they saw each other. Francis was truly regretting what he'd done.

He was in no danger from Hotstreak. Unless he messed with the guy's feelings. And he really didn't have a death-wish, so he wasn't about to do that.

It was settled, then. He was confronting him at school tomorrow.

He fell asleep with a sick feeling in his stomach.

…

Finding and cornering F-Stop alone was actually very difficult. Especially when the guy didn't want it.

The older boy avoided him like he was the plague, slipping away whenever he came too close and refusing to even make eye-contact. It was leaving Richie very frustrated.

So when he finally did get a chance to talk to the redhead - nearly at the end of the day - it was understandable why he was so curt.

"Frankie, I need to talk with you. Alone and as soon as possible."

Hotstreak must have picked up on his irritation, because he only nodded his acquiescence with an unreadable look on his face, and when he replied his voice was solemn.

"Fine. Come with me to where I'm staying after the bell rings - I'll pick you up."

Richie agreed, not questioning that the older boy already had a place of his own. As he watched the metahuman leave, he tried to ignore the sinking feeling of fear that was clenching his insides. He remembered the feeling of not being able to breathe and shivered.

He should have told Virgil about this, should have told him what he was about to do and why… but now, it was too late.

He counted down the minutes to the end of the school day, and tensed when the bell finally rung to signal it was over. He stepped slowly, carefully, outside and into the sunlight to stand on the steps in front of the school and waited.

It was only after all of the other students had dispersed that a car pulled up - a sporty affair, dark green and sleek, and Richie found himself feeling disappointed that it wasn't bright red with a flame decal running the sides. He ignored the feeling and walked down to the vehicle, and stopping by the passenger seat joked through his nervousness.

"I really feel for the poor guy you stole this from."

Richie was shocked at how relieved he felt when Francis smirked at him, saying, "Not stole - borrowed. He'll get it back… maybe not in the condition he'd like it in, but he'll get it back."

He smiled back, and Hotstreak nodded him around to get in the passenger seat. He did so, and stepping in, he was amazed at the lack of tension. The ride wasn't silent - the older boy actually played some music on low, and it made for fine background noise as they talked. Or well, he talked, and Frankie nodded here and there.

It was his nervous habit, he supposed, to talk and laugh and joke in any stressful situation. What stunned him was how easy it seemed. How at ease he could be with a man who had nearly taken his life. Maybe it was how non-threatening Frankie seemed at the moment; face without the anger he had so often seen on it, body relaxed and actually smiling once or twice at something he said.

He noticed that the buildings were becoming more and more dilapidated and he was seeing more and more people out on the street. He forced himself not to look out of the windows and to keep his eyes elsewhere, and fell silent when he felt the car beginning to slow down.

When it pulled to a stop, he looked over to Hotstreak, watching as he cut off the engine and leaned back to run a hand through his bright hair with a sigh. The older boy opened his door and stepped out quietly. He turned to him, eyes guarded, and said before he shut the door, "Well, c'mon inside."

Richie glanced past him, and realized that he knew where they were. It was the Ferris Rowe projects, the bad part of town that all kids were told to stay away from. He looked to the building that had to be where Frankie lived. It was only two stories tall, but it was wide and probably held twenty apartments per level. It looked rundown, but when compared to the buildings that flanked either side of it, it looked to be in pretty good shape.

He stepped out of his side of the car, and immediately upon looking up saw that a worn out looking group across the street was looking at him curiously. He flinched and rushed around the car to fall into step with the only person he knew here.

Francis didn't look at him as he yanked open the front door of the apartment building, not when they took the stairs to the upper level, and not when he walked through the door to his apartment. Richie blinked.

"What, no locks?"

Hotstreak smirked as he moved to stand in front of a couch settled in the middle of the main room. "No need. Everybody knows not to mess with me."

The blond smiled as he looked around, taking in the room. It was actually half-decent, sparsely furnished, sure, but it was obvious that work had been done on it recently to keep it livable. "The benefits of a bad rep, huh?"

Francis nodded in way of reply, something Richie was noticing he did often, and sat down unceremoniously on the couch. It was silent for a moment, the visitor standing, unsure, in the doorway, and the pyro staring resolutely straight ahead.

Richie mentally shook himself and decided to take the initiative to get this done. To do what he came to do. To… He then realized that he had no idea what he had hoped to accomplish by coming here.

He had wanted to… understand, he supposed. Understand what was going through Hotstreak's mind. What he had been _thinking _that entire week. Had he _planned _to hurt him like he did? How had he felt all the days and nights after? Was he kept up wondering about it? Or did he not really give a damn? Sure, it was obvious he regretted it, to an extent, but _why_?

Richie sighed, and tried to gather his thoughts. He tried to come up with some way to start. He took a few steps forward, uncertain, until he was standing in front of Francis on the couch, a decent amount of distance between them. After a moment, he spoke, quiet and without much levity.

"… You must think I'm stupid, right? What kind of _idiot _willingly goes anywhere alone with someone who nearly _killed_ them?"

Francis flinched, but Richie ignored it with a laugh, a hollow sound, wrong to even his own ears. He cut it off quickly, and exhaled deeply. He tried to just let his thoughts flow, and then tried to piece the loudest ones into coherent sentences.

"You know, I haven't told anyone."

Hotstreak looked up at him, eyes confused, and the blond continued, keeping his voice light and humorless.

"It's for the most ridiculous reasons, too. I didn't say anything, because… you _apologized_. Because you really seemed _sorry_. Because… and this is the worst…"

Richie heard his voice breaking, but swallowed it back. He felt Francis' eyes fixed on him, and knew he had to keep himself in check. He hadn't talked about what had happened to anyone, and saying it out loud, now, he felt… It had seemed so easy, just thinking all this. But actually _doing _it proved to be a whole other story.

"Because I didn't want to see you in _prison_. I didn't want to see your entire life _trashed _because of me."

Frankie seemed to almost recoil at his words, and Richie knew there was something he wanted to say to that, but he was keeping his mouth shut for him to talk. The blond was thankful for that.

"I guess I really am an idiot. I keep on wanting to see the best in people. The… the best in _you_. God, it's stupid of me."

The younger boy thought hard on what he wanted to say next, and while he was silent Hotstreak was entirely still. The room was even more so. It seemed like there was nothing else alive but the two of them.

"Do… do you remember when we first met?" He looked to Frankie, and the redhead looked back at him blankly. "I came up to you on the playground to introduce myself, and you punched me." He smiled, and Francis looked down at his own knees.

"And I remember what you said to me, now. Do you?" Hotstreak looked up at him, and nodded slowly. He swallowed thickly. "Yeah…"

"You know, that's all I could think about when you were strangling me."

Francis flinched violently, jerked and looked at him with stricken green eyes, even though there was no spite or malice in his tone. It made him want to soothe the older boy, and that made him want to laugh or maybe cry at the irony. He took a step forward.

"I've known you for such a long time, Frankie. And I guess I just thought… I mean, I know you're a bully and all, and that you don't like me very much, but I _thought_… after so much _time_… I never thought you'd actually try to…"

He shuddered, and felt the tears coming against his will.

"I guess I just… _trusted _you. Not to do something like…"

And then he broke.

Hotstreak stood up slowly, and stepped closer, his hand outstretched tentatively, and Richie finally understood the heart of the issue. It _hurt_ that he had known this man for nearly a _decade _and he still _did _such a thing.

"And… _why_? For _what_? Because I started to dress differently? Because you…" A sob wracked his body, and Frankie let his hand drop, his face twisted into a grimace.

Richie felt the need to cry for a good while, but he blinked and tried to calm himself. He looked up at the metahuman who was standing quite awkwardly at his side. It seemed that, when stripped of all his anger and hate, he really didn't have any idea what to do. He seemed to want to do _something_, but seeing as he was the reason for this, couldn't find anything. The blond scrubbed at his eyes, and realized in the face of Francis' awkwardness that there was something else that really needed to be talked about.

"I know you're sorry for doing it. Just tell me… _why_? What was going through your _head_?"

The pyro looked at him, shocked, and Richie gave a shuddering sigh. He waved him back over to the couch as he walked there himself. Sitting down, he motioned for Francis to do the same. The older boy did, slowly, uncertainly, until the blond had to give a wet laugh. "C'mon, don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Frankie gave him a glare for all of two seconds, before the fire in it died out and he sat with a grumble, carefully keeping his entire body out of contact with the other boy's.

"Now… just… _tell _me."

The metahuman gave him a look, obviously wondering where to start, before he shifted and looked forward, away from the boy beside him.

"I like you." He started quietly, and Richie gave him his complete attention, noting how very wrong quiet was on Francis Stone. "I like you a lot. I have for a long time. All the beatings? All the bullying? I was just pissed that I was dreaming about you. That I was noticing things about you. Stupid things. That I couldn't _stop_." He paused, smiling at some memory Richie wasn't privy to, before he began again.

"I watch you a lot, I guess. And I see things that you don't. Things you miss. Girls trying to get your attention, guys coming on to you…" He snorted; a mirthless, bitter sound. "And I'm a jealous guy, Foley. I've got a temper."

Richie nodded at him, waiting for him to continue. His face was still moist, his eyes red and puffy, but he had stopped crying quickly, before he even really started.

Francis seemed to be looking off into the middle distance, his mind somewhere else, as he began to speak again.

"You know that shadow fucker, right? The one always on the news causing Grade A Trouble for everyone?"

The blond blinked, nodding. He knew him better than Hotstreak thought. "Ebon, right?"

Frankie nodded back. "Yeah, that's the guy. A little while after the whole Big Bang shit went down and I got my powers -" he snapped his fingers to create a small fireball to roll around in his hand to illustrate, "- he found me. Said he wanted me in his crew. Kept on talking about bringing down Static." He flicked the fireball out, which Richie had been staring at, and then went on.

"I said I'd think about it, and he offered to let me hang at his place. I did. And I…" he shifted, and the blond saw his eyes go hard, "… overheard, some things."

Richie didn't like that way Hotstreak had said that, and swallowed, waiting quietly for the older boy to go on. He noticed when Francis clenched his fist, and shivered at the unspoken anger that was just pouring off of him.

"He knows you, somehow. He was talking about _you_. Talking about… what he wanted to do to you." Frankie clenched his fist even tighter, until the knuckles were strained and white. "Sick son of a bitch."

The blond trembled slightly and paled when the meaning of those words came to him. That was somewhere high on his list of 'Things I Don't Wanna Know'. _Ebon_…?

Richie shuddered as his mind bombarded him with images of the powerful metahuman. He'd have to remember to be extra cautious around him in the future.

"Well… I'm having nightmares about shadows now. Thanks."

Francis turned to him with a hard look, and growled out, "Well, now I'm not the only one."

Richie jumped and looked at the boy beside him with a questioning noise, but he only grunted and turned away from him again.

"I left after that. And I guess… that's when I started really watching you. Seeing things you didn't."

The room fell silent for a few long moments after that, and he leaned forward and over to try and catch the older boy's eyes. Francis looked down at him, and Richie felt his glasses falling down his nose once again. He went to push them up with his forefinger, and stared when he saw a smile come to the face he was looking at.

He automatically smiled back, but as soon as he did a frown replaced Frankie's. He sighed and then slid back into place on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them, and waited patiently for the pyro to carry on.

It took him a bit, but he finally did.

"And then… this week, when you wore those _clothes_…" Hotstreak exhaled sharply, and his head turned to look at the door. "I overreacted."

His voice was soft, almost succinct, but so far from impassive. Richie listened closely, his heartbeat rising and falling with the other boy's tone and cadence, and he gripped his knees tighter with his hands.

"I got pissed. Jealous. What was I thinking? I wasn't, really. The only thing… was no one should look at you like that. No one's _allowed_."

Richie shivered at the hint of fierce possessiveness in the other's voice, and watched as Francis looked back from the door to stare forward again. Richie had his eyes on him, and saw half of a resentful smirk.

"I know that's not right. It's not - because you're not mine."

The blond recognized the longing in the metahuman's voice, and didn't know what to make of it. He knew for sure that it left him feeling _something_, something that made him uncomfortable and fidgety and like he needed to say something to console them both. So he did.

"… You know, if it's any consolation, I _wasn't_ flirting with anyone."

Francis finally looked at him, his eyes surprised, before he tossed his back to lay on the back of the couch with a groan. A hand rose to cover his face.

"No, it's not. That means that I didn't nearly _kill_ you because you were flirting - but because I _thought _you were. And it wasn't even… any of my business in the first place."

Richie noticed the way that Hotstreak's strong voice shook when he mentioned killing him, and he felt his body react to other boy with a want to comfort. It was the strangest thing - wanting to soothe and allay and reassure the man who was very close to being his murderer. He was too emotionally drained to scrutinize the feeling very much, and acted on it without thought.

He uncurled himself from his ball and leaned over to rest his hand on Francis' upper arm, trying to convey reassurance through touch. Frankie jerked away and looked at him quickly, his green eyes pained, but Richie kept his hand out, there and waiting should the older boy change his mind. He spoke softly.

"Please, Frankie. I'm not gonna die if you touch me. It's alright."

Hotstreak looked torn, weary, suspicious. His voice came out sharp and raw.

"What the hell… is _wrong_ with you? You were right, you've gotta be stupid. You just don't…"

Richie adopted a firm look on his face and determinedly moved closer. Both of his hands securely made contact with the pyro's, and held on. His voice was still just as soft, as comforting.

"You're not gonna do it again. I _know_. I've _seen_ you. You won't hurt me."

Francis' face wavered and cracked, and it showed through in his tone. "How can you be so… _How_? _Why_? After I fucking nearly-"

The blond held tight onto the hands in his own and spoke through the questions. "It doesn't matter. You won't do it again. You _won't_."

And then he closed the distance between them to give the older boy a hug.

Frankie's body was rigid, his arms pulled quickly to rest stiffly at his sides. Richie ignored it.

"I've known you for a long time. That doesn't have to go away forever because you lost your temper."

And then Francis broke with a ragged noise. His body relaxed and his head came forward to rest for a second time on Richie's neck, that was still covered by a scarf to protect from the cold winds outside, and his arms moved to very tentatively, carefully, hold him around the back.

It was the most awkward embrace the blond had ever been in, and he moved with Hotstreak to become more comfortable. The only thing to do for that was to shift until he was directly in front of the man holding him, which, on a couch, meant settling into his lap. He adjusted his arms tighter around Francis' shoulders and rested his head atop the metahuman's.

They must have stayed in that position for an hour or so, Richie rubbing circles on the hard, warm back under his fingers, and he _felt _Francis trying to keep himself together. He felt Francis holding onto him tighter and tighter and Richie knew he was desperate. He supposed he was desperate, too, though he couldn't even begin to understand what for.

Eventually though, Hotstreak loosened his grip on him, but didn't remove his arms, and he spoke falteringly into his neck.

"What's the word for this? … Ironic, right? I remember that bitch teacher Kutchner talking about it. It's… dramatic irony, or some shit. When something nobody expects happens."

"Not dramatic. That's when the audience knows something the characters don't. There's no audience here. 'An outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected. The incongruity of this.'" Richie quoted quietly, and Francis snorted into his neck, hot breath seeping through his scarf and the blond shivered. "You're such a nerd, Foley."

Richie smiled playfully, though Frankie couldn't see it, and his hands stopped moving on the other boy's back. "But you still want me," he said knowingly, and there was no missing Francis stiffening and starting to shift his arms.

Richie preempted his attempt to break the embrace, removing his arms to hold the metahuman's in place behind his back and leaning back to catch the other's eyes.

"No, no. It's alright. I'm just wondering… why?"

Francis looked undecided, like he wanted nothing more than to push him off and leave him, but, at the same time, only wanted to hold him close again. Richie smiled gently at him, running his hands up and down the arms under them. "Tell me, please. I wanna know."

Frankie sighed, and leaned back. He looked away pensively, before his arms tightened once again and Richie knew there was no chance of him being pushed away. He was silent, thoughtful, for a couple moments before he spoke.

"You were… the first one to look at me like I was just another kid, you know? In second grade, when you came up to me like that the first day… it meant a lot to me. I remember after, you were scared of me, but you still tried to say 'hi' every day and ask me how I was." He inhaled and then released the air slowly. "You stopped eventually - after I insulted you enough, picked on you enough, _hurt_ you enough, you… gave up."

He turned to look forward, but didn't meet the eyes of the boy in his lap, and shifted his arms up higher on the other's back. His voice was distant.

"But I still thought about you. A lot. Whenever I had any free time, my mind went to you. Somewhere along the way, I just… started thinking about you differently." He smiled ruefully. "It wasn't very hard - you weren't exactly hit with the ugly stick."

Richie blushed at the older boy's honesty, and felt his stomach flutter dangerously. He made a noise to get the other's attention, and when those green eyes were on him, he grinned shyly.

"You'd probably think I was stupid if I told that that's very flattering."

Francis stared at him, eyes wide and a blush coming to his own cheeks. Richie laughed, and marveled and the lack of inhibition he felt - it seemed difficult to feel such a thing towards the person in whose lap he sat so securely.

Hotstreak averted his eyes to stare steadfastly at the armrest of the couch. "You really shouldn't say shit like that, Foley." He said quietly, tensely, and Richie tilted his head curiously.

"Why not?"

Francis snapped back to him with a glare, and the blond gasped lightly at the fire in his eyes. "Because it's fuckin' _messed up_. I know that what I did was wrong, but talking shit like _that _is just…" He trailed off and then brought a hand up to motion between them. His words were heavy.

"The fuck are you doing, anyway… Is this some way to get _back_ at me? Now that you know, are you gonna act like this - like you - like… We _could _be together?!"

Richie felt his world shift as an epiphany violently let itself be known to his mind. His eyes opened as the gears in his mind started to turn and turn and assail him with nearly a decade memories of this man - talking, scowling, laughing, threatening, overconfident and brash and eyes lighting in _firelight_ - and it was _cosmic_. It all expanded and swirled and then the cacophony of thoughts compressed into one question.

"_Couldn't we?"_

It came out breathless and dazed, and once he gathered himself back up, he saw that Francis had recoiled from him, face uncomprehending and strained. Richie shook himself and let his thoughts become more coherent before he tried to speak again. His mind continued to assuage him with images of what _could_ be, and he warmed at them, liking them more and more as they became clearer and clearer. The idea that this man could be a part of his life - could be _his_ - was sudden and amazing and he, now, couldn't believe it hadn't come to him sooner.

"Frankie, why… why not? You still want me, right?"

He looked at the other questioningly, and the metahuman was motionless for a moment before he nodded, and it seemed that with that movement the stone he had tried to model his face after yielded. "… Yes." He admitted, and the blond smiled at him.

"Then I want you, too. I don't see a problem."

It was out there, now. There and nearly tangible, as if it was something physical and all they had to do was grab it. Richie, despite what he said, knew that it wasn't that easy. He _expected_ Francis' to be apprehensive and reluctant…

He didn't expect him to start laughing.

But that's what he did. He broke out into a chuckle, which quickly evolved into loud laughter that rose and bounced off the walls of the small room. The laughter went on until it became half-wild and violent and Richie was flinching back, something telling him to leave. But something louder was telling him to lean forward, to hug and whisper and console. So that's what he did.

He whispered into Frankie's ear, soft and gentle, things he forgot as soon as he said them. He held on even when the body beneath him began to heat up, getting warmer and warmer so as to be scarily hot, but he never got burned. He waited until the wild laughter died and Hotstreak was holding onto him shakily.

"You're fucking _out of your mind_, Foley. _Crazy_. You _want _me?" He shuddered, and then looked up to make eye contact. His face was fierce as it locked with the one of the boy in his lap. "You know, if I were a decent guy, I'd tell you I'm bad news and that you should stay the fuck away from me."

Richie yelped as he was shoved to the side, to lay the length of the couch on his back. He felt his glasses come askew, but he couldn't think about that as he felt Francis' heavy body moving to rest above him, hands on either side of his head and eyes, intense, looking into the ones beneath him.

"But I'm _not_ a decent guy. I'm not - and I _want_ you so much more than you could ever want me. So goddamn much."

And then he was being kissed.

He had never been kissed before, but he somehow knew that no one else could ever even _hope _to match the passion that Frankie was showing him then. It was hard and warm and so, so dazzling that he could barely follow the metahuman's quick, rough motions. He could only open his mouth to let the older boy in, and moan his appreciation as he took utter control of him.

There were hands on his face, his shoulders, his sides and down to his thighs, and, god, it was so _hot_. He writhed and twisted, trying to get away and closer at the same time. Eventually he had to pull back to breathe, but Francis didn't stop, moving his mouth downward to kiss at his chin and jaw and down his neck. A hand came up to tug away the scarf, and Richie gasped when it was - he knew that the faded bruises would be in plain sight, a discoloration of purple and green and obvious hurt. There was a pause in the touching.

And then he _mewled_ when the pyro started licking and nipping every centimeter of bruising, a large hand coming up to stroke lightly up and down his neck. Richie's mind told him that Hotstreak was physically saying 'sorry', that he was trying to take away the pain he had caused, but he could really only concentrate on how _good_ it felt.

He was panting heavily by the time Francis stopped, the larger boy leaning back to look him in the eyes. There was a satisfied smile on his face.

"Sensitive neck, huh? … I'll have to remember that."

Richie groaned and glared up at him, through the effect was somewhat lost as he was reaching his hands up to pull the metahuman back down. The redhead complied, and moved carefully back down to rest his face in the blonde's shoulder. Richie huffed out in a tired yet joking tone, "You don't… hafta apologize anymore. Apology definitely accepted."

The man on top of him tensed, but it bled out of him as soon as Richie's hands touched his back. He nodded silently against his shoulder, and Richie snorted. "Best way to apologize ever, I think." And then Francis was chuckling with him.

They must have laid like that for a very long time, before the body above him decided to get up. Richie groaned, but Frankie only looked at him. "I have something of yours. Let me get it."

He stood up and stretched, and the blond was admiring the flex and roll of muscles on that frame before he blushed and looked away. He was amazed at how quickly his view of Hotstreak had changed, and how completely. That morning, the idea of Francis as a lover never would have crossed his mind, but now…

The redhead walked into another room and was gone for a moment. In that moment, Richie sat up and righted himself somewhat, smoothing his hair into place and shifting his clothes. His scarf was lying on the floor by his feet, but he ignored it.

When Frankie came back into the main room, he was holding something clenched in his hand. He tossed it casually over to the blond, and Richie caught it curiously. Holding it up, he realized with a smile that it was his hoodie. He shrugged it on, and noted that it had been washed.

"Thank you, Francis." He blushed and tried to quickly rectify his saying the metahuman's real name, but Hotstreak cut him off. "You can call me by my name, Richie. When we're alone, I mean. We're, well…"

The older boy couldn't seem to get the words out, but Richie didn't pressure him. He had noticed that Frankie had called him by his first name, and smiled.

"Alright, Francis. You can call me by my name, too, then."

Hotstreak smiled hesitantly back at him, and it was quiet for a time. Before Richie realized something and a look of absolute _horror _came to his face. Frankie looked at him confusedly. "Uh… what's wrong?"

The blond looked at him, and whispered fearfully, "I didn't tell my folks I was coming here. I didn't tell _anyone_." His body shook, and he said so low that Francis almost couldn't hear it, "I'm going to die tonight."

Richie didn't appreciate the stifled laughter from the older boy. Really. He stood up and glared at him, ignoring his muscles' collective ache as he stood for the first time in hours.

"Don't you laugh at me, babe. You, as my new boyfriend, have to get me home and help me come up with a believable excuse as to _why_ I was out for… What time is it?"

The blond blinked when his questioned was met with silence, and moved up his hand to wave it in front of the methuman's blank face. "Um, _hellooo_? I'm about to shuffle of this mortal coil, over here. I need you to help me… Francis?"

Hotstreak gave him a _look_, and Richie immediately went still. "What's wrong?"

It took Francis a minute or two before he spoke, and when he did his voice was serious.

"'Boyfriend'? Is that what I am, now?"

The blond gave a sigh of relief, glad that that's what it was about, and stepped forward until he was right in front of the other. He looked shyly at him, and blushed as his words came out just as seriously.

"Well, yeah… At least, that's what I'd like you to be." He shuffled his feet and looked directly at those green eyes as he finished. "That's what I'd like to be to you, too."

Frankie gave him a considering look and Richie squirmed with the thought that he was about to be rejected, even after everything. It was groundless and ridiculous and, well, ironic, but _still_.

The feeling was quickly chased away by Francis giving him what could almost be called a genuine smile. "Boyfriends, yeah. That's what we are, then." The almost-smile then amped up into a smirk, and he moved forward to give his new found boyfriend a peck on the lips. It was chaste and simple, and Richie found himself wondering at how many different kisses this man could give.

"Well then, c'mon. You gotta get home." He turned to the door, but paused and looked back at the blond appraisingly.

"You should probably put that scarf back on - I don't think you'd wanna explain those hickeys to everyone."

Richie blushed brightly and his hand came up to close over his throat. He glowered at the metahuman who was turning away blithely, carelessly.

He grumbled as he turned back to the couch to pick up his scarf and fix it into place, and then he went to the door where Francis was waiting for him. The redhead stared at him, and he smiled uncertainly back. "What, Francis?"

Hotstreak paused, as if considering whether or not to say what he was thinking, before his face slipped into a frown.

"Nothing. Just… wondering if this all really happened."

Richie opened his mouth, before a indolent grin came to it. He leaned forward, tilting his head up. "Yes, it did. Do you need more proof or something?"

He continued closer until he was less than an inch from the other boy's lips, and whispered, "Because I can give you some."

Francis closed the distance, and Richie sighed contentedly. He felt that this had promise, this relationship, and he knew that Francis wanted it to work even more than him. He could feel the other's _want _almost corporeal around them, and he knew that _something_ would come of this.

Whatever the outcome, right now, he was happy.

...

Well, golly, it's over. Like, finally. I wrote this thing in three days, and I need to go rest mah hands. Read, review, and all that, pretty please.

Peace out.


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